Nightspeak
by F.D. Tamms
Summary: It's chessy and a little OOC, but here it is: the conclusion. Mrs. Lovett faces the repercussions of her foolishness...are they as miserable as she expects them to be?
1. Chapter 1

It was always cold in the doorway to Sweeney Todd's shop, but that didn't usually bother her. After all, Mrs. Lovett was usually dressed warm. But at nighttime she wore a nightgown as old as the hills, and it was tatty and ripped in some places. She wore a shawl, too, but it was old as well—not good for warmth, if that was what you wanted.

She knocked on Mr. Todd's door with vigor—she wasn't entirely sure if this was because she was anxious to be warm again (which, she mused, wasn't likely to happen if she entered—the shop was just as cold as it's doorway) or if she really wanted to see him (that was plausible. She always wanted to see him).

It was probably a bit of both.

In any sense, Mrs. Lovett knocked at his door vigorously, her tiny fists making as much noise as possible without waking the neighbors. There was no answer.

_It figures that the only night he actually sleeps is the one night I want to talk to him,_ she thought.

Undiscouraged, she knocked slightly louder and said "Mr. T? Are you awake in there?"

Her voice was quiet but forceful. She knew that, if he were awake, he would hear her. Then again, she wouldn't put it past him to completely ignore her even if he could hear her. He didn't like her company much, and even though she knew that she still craved his presence. "Mr. T, if you're awake, please answer the door. It's bloody freezing out here."

Nothing. She then tried the doorknob. To her surprise, the door shifted and opened a crack. "I'm coming in, Mr. T," she warned.

No answer.

She opened the door as carefully and quietly as possible. It creaked a bit but not loudly enough to wake anyone up. The shop was pitch dark, save for a large patch of moonlight shining through the window that draped itself over half of the ruby-red barber's chair.

In the chair was a man. Mrs. Lovett approached him warily, knowing it was definitely Mr. Todd—he wouldn't have been sloppy enough to leave a body in the chair. And, although she knew they were going to their deaths, Mrs. Lovett hoped that Sweeney Todd never positioned any of his customers in the manner he was currently sitting, because it looked terribly uncomfortable. His legs were slung over one arm of the chair (the part engulfed in darkness) and his head hung over the other side, his face bathed in moonlight.

"Mr. Todd? Are you really asleep?" She asked.

Upon closer inspection, Mrs. Lovett saw that he was indeed asleep—his eyes were shut and his breathing was even. "You really are asleep, then?" she asked, knowing he was.

Why would he play a trick on her? There was no need.

She knelt down beside the chair and nestled her hands into her lap. Her face leaned in towards him so she could get a better look at his sleeping face.

A strand of his chaotic hair had fallen over his eyes and she longed to brush it away but resisted the urge. His face was chalky pale in the moonlight, his eyelashes casting shadows down his cheeks.

_And he was beautiful_, she thought.

"Mr. T?" She whispered. His steady breathing answered her. "Mr. T, I couldn't sleep."

Mrs. Lovett was almost relieved that he wasn't awake, because had he been awake he would surely have kicked her out by now. Or he would have glared at her and said mean things. This way, she could talk to him and see him—plus, his sleeping face was something she almost never saw. It was a marvel to look at.


	2. Chapter 2

"Mr. T?"

She said it tentatively. Her heart was fluttering. He continued to sleep peacefully. "Mr. T…I just wanted to…er…"

Did it really matter if she said what was on her mind? How was he to know whether or not she said anything objectionable? "Mr. T," she began again. "I'm not sure why I couldn't sleep. I think it might be…what's the word?...Not guilt, but…"

She leaned her elbows on the seat of the chair and placed her head in her hands. "I don't know. It's uncomfortable thinking about the dead people. I mean, their faces are there, in my mind…"

She rubbed her eyes. "I mean, I feel a little guilty…but not really guilty. Why should I feel guilty? I didn't kill them. You did."

He grunted in his sleep and she jumped. "Mr. T!" She breathed. "Don't scare me like that." She settled herself again.

"I just…this is the first time in a long time that I haven't been able to sleep. Maybe I'm just not used to all this yet." Would she ever be used to it?

"It's also a bit strange having a man around," she added. "Maybe that's another reason why I can't sleep. I mean...it's not like I think you would…do anything to me while I was asleep." Her cheeks reddened at the very idea.

"But, well…it's not just that you're a man, either. It's because it's you." After she had said it, she regretted her words. "Oh! I don't mean…I don 't think you would kill me." But she didn't doubt that sometimes he wanted to.

"It's just…well…neither of us is married, and…we do spend an awful lot of time together…people will talk, you know. And we live together, too." She considered that for a moment. Were they living together? She liked to think of their living arrangements in that way. "But what am I getting at, saying all this? I can't sleep because I'm always thinking about you downstairs. Thinking about…" did she dare? "Us."

She leaned in towards him, so that her face was inches away from his. "Mr. Todd, I've got to be honest with you." Her voice was little more than a whisper. "I've loved you for a very long time. Maybe I loved you even before I knew you existed." She wanted so badly to touch him—to feel his pearly skin, stroke his messy hair. She resisted the urge. "I couldn't even tell you why. I just…I can't help it. It's compulsive—it's a reflex by now."

Sometimes Mrs. Lovett missed the life she had led before Sweeney Todd moved in—she hadn't been happy before, but now she was miserable. The emotions she felt now were new to her. For one thing, she was nervous—about her business being exposed, that had to be said, but also about him finding out the truth. The truth she had twisted for her own benefit. That was another emotion she felt—the guilt over lying to him. Not that she had lied, really. She had told him the truth—just not the whole truth. But Mrs. Lovett still felt the flutter of guilt in her stomach every time Lucy became a topic of conversation (this was often, because it was all Sweeney Todd wanted to talk about when they did have a conversation).

"Maybe that's why I can't sleep," she whispered. "I feel guilty about Lucy's…death." Speaking about Lucy hurt her. The words fell like stones from her lips, and as they fell they crushed her heart. She felt a cry form in her throat but she swallowed it. "Not that I should. I mean…I had nothing to do with it."

More like she had everything to do with it—she had invented it.

"I'm tired now, Mr. T. I need to go to bed." She stood up, brushing tears from her eyes. There was no reason to cry. Why was she crying? She was turning around when he grabbed her wrist. "Don't go," he whispered hoarsely.


	3. Chapter 3

Her heart rattled violently against her ribcage. "Mr. Todd…?" She asked, her voice a breathy whisper.

She turned slowly to face him.

He hadn't moved from his position in the chair, but now his eyes were open. She saw many emotions in them—surprise, anger, and an undeniable sadness. His fingers were frozen on her skin. "Sit," he said. She sat.

"Mr. T, I didn't….I mean, if I'd have known I wouldn't have…" Her voice trailed off, leaving her sentence unfinished.

He wasn't looking at her anymore—his eyes were fixed on the ceiling.

"Er…I should go…"

"NO!" He snarled.

Mrs. Lovett bit her lip, her stomach churning and her heart aching. He still didn't say anything.

The silence was deafening.

She wanted to return downstairs, though she knew sleep would be impossible. "Mrs. Lovett."

His voice interrupted her thoughts. It was tired and weak, with a threat of violence in it. She swallowed. "Yes, Mr. T?" She breathed.

"Stop crying."

She hadn't known she had been crying, but as soon as he mentioned it, she felt the salty sting of tears on her cheek. "Sorry." Her voice was sniffly and choked.

He didn't reply. It was an awkward silence, broken only by her stuffy tears and a gentle wind blowing against the window. Mrs. Lovett hated the silence—it suffocated her. She began to speak. "When did you wake up?"

He snorted—a noise so foreign to her she jumped. "I was never asleep," he said. "I thought, if I ignored you, you would go away."


	4. Chapter 4

Mrs. Lovett's face burned with embarrassment.

She struggled to remember everything she had said—she knew she'd said something stupid about him being a man. That was embarrassing, but not too terrible. What else had she said?

There were other things. Important things.

"I thought you'd leave after I didn't respond, so I waited for you to give up on me," he murmured.

She was feeling very stupid now.

"And then, when you started talking, I figured I would wake up suddenly in the middle of what you were saying so you would leave," he grumbled.

Her head hurt from straining to remember what she had said.

"Figured and you'd never be the wiser." he added.

What had she said?

"But then you started saying things I never thought you would say… you mentioned Lucy."

Lucy. Of course. But had that been it?

"I want to ask you something."

He looked into her eyes, then, and she felt tears form again. For a moment, he was the ever-gentle, ever-charming Benjamin Barker. His eyes had a hope in them that she barely recognized.

"Is she really gone? Is she really dead?"

For a moment, Mrs. Lovett wanted desperately to tell him that she wasn't—Lucy was alive. But wouldn't it hurt him terribly to see her the way she was? Wasn't it better for him to remember her only the way he loved her?

Wasn't she protecting him?

Or was she being selfish and horrible? Would lying to him help or hinder their relationship in the end? Mrs. Lovett wasn't certain. She hated lying to him, but it kept them together.

"Yes," she whispered. A single tear fell as she spoke. She hoped, with only the glow of the moon serving as light, he wasn't able to see her face. "She's really gone."

He looked pained, though not nearly as pained as he had looked the first time she had told him.

His eyes drifted back to the ceiling. "There was one more thing."

One more thing? What else had she said?

And suddenly, it hit her. She knew what was coming. There was no way to avoid it.

"You said…that you loved me."

Of course. She had told him she loved him.

How could she have been so stupid?

She leapt up and turned to the door. "Wait!" He barked. She ignored him. She approached the door, her fingers trembling as they reached for the door knob.

"Wait," he said again.

She paused.

She heard the floorboards creak as Sweeney Todd got out of his chair. "Wait," he said again.

Mrs. Lovett lingered in the doorway, her hand hovering above the door knob. "Yes?" She asked, her voice sounding far more controlled than she had expected it too.


	5. Chapter 5

His fingers enclosed her wrist. She was frightened. Would he kill her? How could she have said something so stupid?

"Mr.T?" She whispered, "I'm so tired. Can I please go to bed now?"

"Not yet," he murmured. His grip was strong.

"What?" She turned to give him a look, but when she turned she found her face in his chest.

She could smell shaving cream and the unmistakable scent of blood on him. The stench was overpowering, intoxicating—she suddenly felt much more tired.

She opened her mouth to say something when he put his arms around her.

He did it very awkwardly, as though he had never touched a woman before. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do with her hands—put them around his waist? Leave them at her sides?—so she merely placed them on his chest.

His face was buried in her hair.

Mrs. Lovett wasn't entirely certain of what was going on.

She was still confused when she felt his lips on her forehead.

She wasn't sure why he had done it—was it by accident? Was it because they were in extremely close proximity to each other?

It didn't matter, she realized. Either way, Mr. Todd had kissed her. Not anywhere romantically significant—just on her forehead.

But she didn't breathe for worry that the moment would pass and she would never feel his touch again.

When he pulled away, she couldn't help herself.

"Mr. T?" she asked.

"Shut up," he grumbled. He still held her wrist.

It was almost kindness, Mrs. Lovett thought. Sweeney Todd was being kind to her. In his own way, yes. In a strange way, definitely. But it was kindness nonetheless.

"I'm going to bed now," she murmured. He nodded curtly.

The door was open and shut in seconds and Mrs. Lovett was out in the cold again. It was funny—being in the cold didn't bother her as much now as it had before.

She wondered vaguely if it had anything to do with getting everything (or nearly everything) that had been bothering her off her chest. She still felt guilty about lying (though she maintained that she was doing it for his own good) and she still felt like an idiot for saying that she loved him, but nothing mattered as much because he had shown her some sort of emotion. "Affection" wasn't the right word.

Perhaps "tolerance" was better.

As she creaked down the rickety stairs to the pie shop, Mrs. Lovett could swear she heard Mr. Todd say something when he thought she was out of earshot, something that made her grin from ear to ear.

She entirely sure of what he had said, but it had sounded something like:"Come again anytime."


End file.
